Seth MacFarlane hosted the Oscars this past Sunday, and his so-called "misogynist" jokes faced a lot of criticism almost immediately. Most notably, he opened with a song called "We Saw Your Boobs" about actresses who had been topless in movies. He also made a Chris Brown-Rihanna domestic violence joke, did a bit about 9-year-old Quvenzhane Wallis being too old for George Clooney in a few years, and joked that Rex Reed would probably call Adele fat.

But here's the thing:

I was really, really, really NOT offended.

Don't get me wrong; I think his jokes are generally pandering, crass, and lowbrow, and I'm not a fan of his humor (usually). But the whole thing didn't really upset me the way it did a lot of people. The worst of it, in my opinion, was the needless sexualization of a 9-year-old girl, but The Onion did a far better job of offending me in that regard. And domestic violence isn't funny, either. But really, what do you expect when you ask Seth Mac-fucking-Farlane to host an awards show? As far as I'm concerned, it was a lapse in judgment on the part of whoever booked him. The Oscars is neither the time nor the place for Seth MacFarlane-level humor; in my opinion, it's better left to the Razzies.

But here's another thing:

I eventually became a little offended.

You see, I made a rather bitter, reactionary status on Facebook about how I didn't find MacFarlane funny, and one of my friends commented on it in disagreement. It devolved into a discussion about sexism and why MacFarlane's jokes could be offensive to people, and I was then met with some pretty harsh backlash from a different guy. He said that what I was saying was simply "feminist propaganda bullshit" and sent me a video of a bus driver clocking an aggressive woman in the face with the comment, "This is equality. I'm all for equality," which was not at all germane to the discussion at hand.

Soon after, I deleted the post, ordered a pizza, and watched Rugrats with my roommate to calm my ginger fury.

Note how the pizza flies out of the box AFTER Tommy falls on it.

It infuriated me that my simple remarks about things like the male gaze or sexual objectification received such a negative response, and I'm not alone. An article called "Why Seth MacFarlane's Misogyny Matters" got comments like "get over yourself" and "I'd hate to be your boyfriend," among others, and we all remember the misogynistic attacks on Anita Sarkeesian after she announced her series on women in video games. To me, the sexist reactions are far more offensive than the issues that spur them.

So what's going on here?

Part of it is what some people think feminists are--bra-burning, whiny, man-hating women who want no more than to complain about all the terrible things that men do. Some call them "feminazis." Like I've said before, this notion is ridiculous, caused by the grossly exaggerated portrayal of feminists in the media. Feminists come in all shapes and sizes, and they're not limited to cis-gendered women by any means. But when a (usually female) feminist highlights an instance of sexism, those with poor impressions of feminists jump on her, claiming that her arguments have no merit because she's just saying some "feminist propaganda bullshit."

Having said that, I do think that some people strive toward political correctness with a humor-sucking sterility, and that also contributes to the problem. Part of the backlash against feminism is due to frustration with how "hypersensitive" people can be to potentially sexist issues, with the broader argument being that a lot of comments are "just jokes" and should be taken lightly. However, while there are definitely people who are easily offended--in every facet of society, not just feminism--it doesn't justify attacking people who speak out against things they feel are wrong. In the face of disagreement, the correct course of action is discussion, not posting crass comments. *pointedly looks toward the front page*

So, in conclusion:

When you're trying to start a productive discussion about sexism, having boobs actually does kinda suck.